Mom's Hand Today |
Mom’s often bruised and
swollen hands carried water from far away in heavy buckets when water was
turned off in summertime. They cooked thousands of nourishing meals when there
was so little money and food was so hard to get. Her hands washed so many
dishes, we could have gone around the globe. In the absence of a car, mom’s
hands carried heavy bags of groceries every day for a couple of miles at least.
She had to walk because that’s how far the market was.
Mom’s hands were often raw
from scrubbing our sheets and clothes in a bathtub filled with caustic detergent.
Communism did not provide much in terms of amenities to make homemaking easy.
We could not afford to buy a washing machine from the west nor could we afford
laundry bills as the elites who ran the oppressive regime we lived under.
My mom’s younger hands
pushed in stifling heat very large and heavy containers filled with dough in
the factory she worked – a sweat-shop experience she would like to forget. Her
hands weighed and shaped tasty fresh loaves of bread for almost twenty years.
Then she came home to cook and feed her family. Her hands never rested much and
nobody massaged her achy fingers and wrists. I don’t recall her ever
complaining or moaning in pain.
She is finally resting her
hands because they no longer help her as much. Mom gets frustrated when they
fail her. But I understand. God wants to give her hands a rest. She’s done
enough for so many people. It is time that other hands take her place to move
small mountains every day.
Mom always told me, take
care of your hands, they are the first thing people see, and they are the
lifeline to your family. I never understood what she meant because I thought
people saw our eyes first. But mom is right, people judge us by what we do, and
our hands are important tools in the labor of life and love.
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